


Fragility

by The_Last_Kenobi



Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clone Wars, Gen, Graphic Violence, Just being cautious, Sort Of, Whump, Whumptober 2020, manhandled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26824885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Kenobi/pseuds/The_Last_Kenobi
Summary: Ahsoka isn't the type to go down without a fight. Weaponless, outnumbered, she will still always stand her ground.But we all have weaknesses, even if they're just simple ones.Written for Whumptober 2020Day 3 - Manhandled
Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956463
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Fragility

Ahsoka struggled like a wildcat, hissing through her sharp teeth as the hands holding her tightened further, digging into her flesh.

She had stopped shouting awhile ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to just walk sedately in the grip of her captors.

She couldn’t do it.

So she fought, sinking her boots into the floor and wrestling herself away from the grasping hands that held her.

A blow came out of nowhere and caught her directly on her left temple, stunning her.

Ahsoka’s vision went grey, and for a terrifying space of time that could have been five seconds or five minutes, nothing felt real. She could still sense the clamped hands on her arms, and one invasive hand squeezing her hip—feel her feet dragging along the ground as they forced her onwards—but she couldn’t see, couldn’t speak or move her head.

When reality came crashing back in, it came with the added disorientation of a truly spectacular blow to the head.

The Jedi Padawan dug her heels sharply into the ground once again, jerking them to a halt.

Muffled voices spoke nearby, the meaning filtering slowing into her shaken head.

“…little rat…”

“Just move, she’s not—”

“Kriffing little brat. She’s Togruta. Their montrals are sensitive.”

Ahsoka only had a moment to grow afraid before two hands roughly grabbed both of her montrals, the still-growing points on top of her head. The grip itself was painful, but she screamed when the hands dug nails painfully into the white-and-blue flesh, tearing off layers of skin.

She went limp, feeling violated and tattered, and this time, she didn’t struggle as the hands returned to her arms and waist and hauled her deeper into the Separatist complex.

The next thing she knew, she was alone in the corner of a very narrow, unsanitary looking cell.

Someone slammed a hypospray deep into her neck, and she knew before the drug kicked in that she was being given Force suppressants.

There was no need for cuffs or rope when they could just inject her with something that took away her best advantage. Her lightsaber had been taken away long ago.

Ahsoka curled up in the corner, drawing her knees to her chest, and reached up with shaking hands to touch her montrals. The flesh there was scratched and bleeding—the man had torn the tips apart with his fingernails. Blood dripped slowly down to the shallow groove between both montrals, down her lekku, down her face.

She covered the flayed skin with her hands, wincing at the burning sensation, and struggled not to cry.


End file.
